


Graceful Degression

by reylotea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angel!Castiel, Demon!Dean, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, Mark of Cain, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Wings, short and bitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylotea/pseuds/reylotea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew now what the pain was, what the dying suns were against his flesh. He knew what he would see when he looked into a mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graceful Degression

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened. I apologize for it, but I am also sharing the pain, because not only does misery love company, in certain cases, it deserves it.

When it happened, there was no warning signal. There was no stop sign, there was no brake pedal. 

There were no words saying "Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200". 

Maybe if there had been something, anything at all, things would be different. 

There was only the sound of blood, pumping fast and angry through his veins, beating out a violent rhythm for his body to follow. His eyes, once such a beautiful cut of crystal green, were now blackened by demonic rage: solid pools of pitch, horrid and drowning. 

The Mark burned like a beacon, an ugly streak of crimson lightning, forking down his arm and into the Blade gripped tightly in his fist. It was no longer a harmless knife of tooth and bone, but a living extension of his fury and bloodlust, a new limb, primeval and malicious, seeking blood with a disturbing vengeance. With every kill, it fed more and more, gorged itself and now Dean with the raw power gained from killing. 

Silence hung in the stale air. So much carnage, so much blood. Dean was drenched in it, from head to toe, not even flinching as it cooled on his skin, hardening. 

Around him were the bodies: Crowley and his little band of demons...and Metatron, along with his garrison of angels, all lay cooling in their own blood, piles of bones amongst ashes and slivers of faded grace. 

There were only two others standing in the room. Sam and Cas, who watched Dean with anguish in their eyes. They stood across from him, tense and wary, Sam holding tightly to Ruby's knife and Cas wielding his angel blade. Neither had dropped their weapons as soon as they realized what had happened to Dean. 

Dean was just staring at them with his black eyes, his lips twisted into a cruel parody of his usual vibrant smile.

There were no calming words that Sam could offer, no pleading gaze from Cas that could penetrate those oil-slicked eyes. 

The Blade had taken over and it wanted it's due. There was no longer Sam and Cas that Dean could see, just more flesh and blood and bones to tear apart. 

And oh how he wanted to rip them them to shreds. 

The Blade commanded and Dean obliged.

His movements were quick, one precise storm of focused rage. He lunged for Sam, who he could sense was the weaker of the two, the Blade lunging straight and deadly. 

Castiel was faster. 

There was only the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. Dean didn't hear the pained gasp as Cas took the stab that was meant for Sam. Only the sound of the blade rendering flesh and bone to pieces. He didn't hear the hysterical yells of his brother, rushing forward to catch the angel, bringing all three of them to the floor in a hard crash. 

He didn't hear the desperate whisper of "Dean" leaving the angel's bloody lips as he struggled through his last breath. 

When the flash of holy light flared, instinct made him shut his eyes, and he was smothered by the stunning heat and energy that seemed to pulse through him for a long heartbeat. 

 

In that beat there was nothing but light and heat and blissful silence. 

No blood. 

No Blade. 

No screams. 

Just pure white light, cleansing and unforgiving, burning through the darkness of the Mark. It was the minutes after a raging storm, when the air was crisp and hard in your lungs, but so clean and invigorating. His skin hummed as if it were struck by lightning, and wasn't that what Castiel was? Lightning-in-a-bottle, a holy wave of celestial intent. Dean suddenly felt light as air, more pure than he could ever remember feeling. The corruption that had leached into his soul had burned away in Cas' fading grace. He could no longer feel the Mark or the Blade, just floating. Perfect and peaceful. 

In his suspension he was briefly aware of calling out to Cas...whether he said it aloud or in his mind, he couldn't say. The force that was Castiel didn't answer, but in that single beat he could feel something so familiar, a memory, a fading dream.The flare of a comet, the softest of kisses brushing his lips like starlight and sunshine... and then something cool pressing fingers against his forehead tenderly.

Castiel's presence faded and the moment of peace was lost, and Dean was left with the screams and the scalding, furious pain. 

After the silence, sound returned in a roaring wave and it took him a second to realize that the hoarse screams were not Sam's, but his own, along with the searing, white-hot fire that raged across his chest, arms, hip, neck and thigh.

It felt as if a thousand dying suns had decided to combust right against his skin. The pain was so sharp and precise, Dean couldn't even tell what had hit him. All he knew was that it stretched the length of his arms, across the span of his chest and stomach, brushing his thighs and hips, up to a sharp point that seared, curling beneath his neck. Stabs like fire dipped needles all pickling into his skin.

He was vaguely aware of Sam beside him, grabbing his shoulders, yelling "Dean, Dean- you have to let him go!"

His only response was to clutch the weight in his arms tighter. He didn't know what it was. All he knew was that no, he couldn't let it go. 

Don't go. 

So he hung on tighter, screaming as the heat flared again, a raging inferno against his flesh. Tears fell past the lids of his eyes, still sealed tightly. He didn't know why, but he had to do this. He had to last through the pain.  
It went on for a few more seconds, though to Dean it felt like lifetimes. The entire time Sammy had been yelling, pleading for him to stop, to let go. At last there was one final wave of pain before it changed and he was shocked by the elicit cold that replaced the fire. The effect was cauterizing, and the pain lessened enough for Dean to finally open his eyes. What he saw stopped his heart. 

"Cas...Ca-s." His voice was a broken, ragged plea. He kept repeating the angel's name, staring down at the limp body cradled in his arms and against his chest. 

"Castiel!" 

Dean's voice was hysterical. The chant of Cas' name was peppered with "I'm sorry", and "Please don't leave me". "I need you". "I love you". 

Sam could only sit beside him, still shaking and torn, trying to offer comfort through his presence alone. It broke him too, watching helplessly as his brother yelled and cradled Cas to him, tears flowing strongly now. 

Castiel had saved him from Dean without any hesitation. And it seemed, as Sam saw the green eyes, albeit tear filled and bloodshot, the angel had managed to use the last of his dying grace to save Dean as well. Even the Mark was gone from Dean's skin. 

Though, even if the Mark was gone...a new brand had taken form on Dean's skin. Sam traced the entire length with his eyes, not having the heart to tell Dean yet. He would figure it out. He would see it soon enough. There was a reason he had been trying to pull Dean away from Cas' body after the flare of dying grace, begging him to let go. 

His shirts had been scorched away where the imprint of Castiel's wings were now branded into his skin, scarred into his flesh like a grotesque tattoo. Sam had forgotten, even with all the angels they killed. When an angel dies, it's wings burn away, leaving an imprint on whatever surface they are left on. And Castiel’s had burned themselves away against Dean. 

Dean would carry the scars of Castiel's death with him until the day he died. 

Sam didn't know how long it had been. Minutes melted into hours...but Dean still refused to move. He sat, cradling Cas’ limp frame, muttering things into his hair, voice hoarse and broken. Sam pretended not to hear the pleas, all the unsaid words and broken promises Dean mumbled into Castiel’s cool skin. 

“Dean, we have to go…” he said weakly, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

“I can’t just leave him, Sam. We have to- we gotta..” 

“We’ll bury him, Dean. At the bunker. At home.” Sam said, standing on shaking legs. 

Dean reluctantly let go of Cas’ body long enough to stand up. But then he was immediately bending down, scooping Cas into his arms. He even shrugged off Sam’s motion to help him. 

“I got him, Sammy. Let’s just get out of here.” he said roughly. 

_______________________________

Time moved quickly after that, and soon they had somehow managed to make it back into the Impala and were headed towards the bunker. Sam was the one behind the wheel, not even protesting when Dean had silently tossed him the keys before sliding into the back seat with Castiel's body. Cas’ body stretched the length of the back seat, his head cradled tenderly in Dean’s lap. Dean was silent the whole ride, eyes staring blankly out the window, but his hand was still gently carding through Cas’ dark hair. Sam kept casting worried glances in the rearview mirror, looking for any warning signals from Dean. 

“I’m fine, Sam.” Dean’s voice was hoarse, but strong as he answered Sam’s concerned face in the mirror. 

“Dean, your chest-”

“I know.” 

Dean stared straight ahead then, refusing to look down at the angel in his lap, though he still kept a hand on his head, and refusing to look at the scars now stretching across his entire upper half. He knew what the pain was now, what the dying suns were against his flesh. He knew what he would see when he looked into a mirror later without his shirt. 

His chest clenched tightly, but he shook the thoughts away. Now was not the time for them. 

Afterall, he had the rest of his life to look at them. And he would look at them, everyday for all the days that followed. He knew he owed Castiel so much more, but it was all he could do for now. All he could give him was the memory of his sacrifice and loyalty, etched onto his skin. He bent his head down, suddenly overwhelmed by another haze of tears. He leaned against Castiel’s forehead, eyes shut against the wetness, before he softly brushed his lips against cold skin. 

“I won’t forget you, Cas. Never again.”


End file.
